


189

by coffeelover222



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, She-Ra lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28004637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeelover222/pseuds/coffeelover222
Summary: Scrapper 189 did not imagine how this would be how her life would be going. She thought her life would be more than digging through trash to keep her in the Grandmaster's favor. Destiny is a funny thing.
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel) & Original Female Character(s), Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)





	189

As a reluctant scrapper, I placated the grandmaster by bringing him useful things from time to time and explaining their function. Not being able to stomach bringing in any live being for the grandmaster to enslave. Hiding away anything useful in an escape from Sakaar, I lost track of the days of grueling work of fixing trash. 

The crowded bar bustled with drinking contests and betting on the contest of champions scheduled for tomorrow. Feet aching, I gravitated to the only empty seat at the end of the bar. Sticky with grim and spilled beer, the bartender set my regular on the counter. Taking a long sip, I savored the sweet than sour melon flavor of the drink. Glancing to my left, I caught the eyes of someone new. I hadn’t seen her around before because I would have remembered anyone so beautiful in this shit hole place. A blank stare, she looked like she had the life sucked out of her. Her sensual dark eyes were cold. The hearty laughter and joyful mood of her surroundings drew more attention to her brooding. 

Smelling the booze on her, she finished off an extremely large bottle before asking for another. The bartender eyed her suspiciously wondering if he should cut her off. With one look in her dark empty eyes, I could see her solid effort in trying to drink herself to death to escape something. Her expression changed seeing the judge. She met my curious eyes with a sneer. Facing forward, I intently focused on peeling the sticker on the bottle. She downed the next bottle in ten minutes than another and another. 

The first lesson taught on Sakaar was to not trust or care about anyone because it would get you killed. It went against how my family and community raised me and what I believed in. The war is a not-too-distant secondhand memory. I rebelled in small acts of kindness to get through the day. Maybe, she needed a friend. 

“What are you looking at?” The dark-skinned goddess snarled tone sharp yet slurred, making my eyes divert from the bottle in her hands. 

Or, maybe not. 

“I’m admiring how you’re still sitting up,” I replied my hand tightening on my drink I nursed. 

She huffed rolling her eyes ignoring me for the rest of the hour putting back four more bottles. Paying her massive bill, the woman stood up swaying moving towards the exit. Walking behind her, I sprang into action when her foot caught on the uneven ground in the darkness. Catching her before she crashed into the ground face first, my hand around her waist. A gasp leaving her lips before shoving me away angry. 

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed stumbling away. 

“I just want to help you get home,” I assured trailing behind her hands up. 

She hiccupped loudly waving her hand at me to leave before slurring to rest on a street corner, “That’s not how Sakaar works. You want something.” 

She rested her head against the wall eyes closing sleepy. Wrapping an arm around her waist, she was heavier than she looked being pure muscle. 

“Where’s home?” I asked making her snort. 

“Scrapper A, Unit 142, try anything and I’ll rip your throat out.” 

We lived in the same place only a few floors below me. Interesting. She let me guide us through a shortcut that I usually took to get home. She stopped trying to push me away almost too drunk to stand. Leaning her against the wall next to her door, I pressed her hand against the keypad. 

“So, what form of payment do you charge for your chivalry services?” 142 purred leaning against the wall hands undoing her armor. 

Her sensual tone making my cheeks redden at her implication. 

“Goodnight, 142,” I replied walking away looking back to see a small smirk on her lips. 

This pattern continued. She showed up the following night in the same seat overindulging in booze. To repeatedly complaining as I helped her back to her room. 142 would drink in silence sometimes glancing at me. I didn’t spark conversation. A week to the day, she finally asked me a question as we stood outside her door. 

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” She asked sobering up. 

“189. Goodnight, 142.”


End file.
